Broccoli arguments at the Grand Union and black thorn bayonets

Zoe and I are at the Grand Union in Dobbs Ferry, going up and down the aisles I guess, buying stuff. As we leave, we’re not sure what to do with our cart.  We’re looking for a car, ways to get out of there. Finally we find a cart return, but this means we have to carry our groceries all the way back to the car, which is parked farther away.  

As we pick up the groceries in their bag another lady is there and she says “don’t forget the broccoli,” because there’s also broccoli in the cart, in a plastic bag.  And I say, “no no that’s not ours, we didn’t want it.” She gets very incensed. She says we’re lying. We say, “No no, really, we like broccoli but that’s not ours.” She’s basically accusing us of not liking broccoli and therefore leaving it in the cart and being lazy about putting it back.

The argument escalates because I so dislike being called a liar. Soon there was shouting. The other women there give me the impression that this woman is always causing trouble.

Before, we were taking Uncle Bone to the Grand Union for something he needed before work and Zoe’s about to go to school.  Anyway, after theincident with the broccoli, Zoe and I go to the car, singing a song about the groceries. I’m making it up.

Someone is telling us a story about how Dobbs Ferry has changed. How it used to be full of Italian restaurants, and then Chinese restaurants, and now the Chinese restaurants are leaving. The woman we’re talking to, is it Anita? I don’t know. She says that there used to be a Chinese restaurant with really incredible desserts. The guy was actually a young person and Greek. He was very very formal. He would come to your table and describe the desserts for you. He took his job very seriously. He took everything very seriously.

One time a handyman who was near us came by and needed some special screws. The chef, who was known for having many unexpected things, rummaged in his stores and came back. And he presented these screws on these tiny tiny little tart trays with a great sense of ceremony. And the guy who needed them took them.

I also see some thorns. Black thorns like I saw here at the conference, the ones that are used for voodoo. They make me feel frightened. I have a vision where there are many many soldiers. They shoot into the sky and the black thorns are like bayonets at the end of their rifles. And then the bayonet ends come falling from the sky, the black thorns, and impale all the people below, all of the soldiers. There’s is a huge pile of bodies. We only escaped because I pull Zoe back into an adjacent room. It’s a bit frightening.